Down

Never again would he get to feel feathers that soft. Birds were sleek. Sticking his hand in down got him pricked. Dog far was a different texture entirely. There was nothing in this world that could match the feeling of Shoutarou in the last.

If only he’d said something sooner. Maybe it would have devastated Shoutarou, but they could have made it through. Their relationship was stronger than that, though maybe he only knew that in retrospect. He could have spent so many days with his hands buried in Shou-chan’s feathers. He could have buried his face in them and smelt the oranges off them. He could have slept under Shou-chan’s wing.

He hadn’t known! He hadn’t known Shou-chan would be so soft! There were so many kaijus in that world and he never saw any that came close to Shou-chan’s level of soft and cute! That world was far too cruel. Hiding it from him. Killing him. What God had he offended to be denied a lifetime in comfort?

“Akira?” Shoutarou snapped him out of his crying. “You haven’t drawn anything in a bit.”

Sure enough, all the pages he’d inked were now in a pile with their screen tones stuck while his pen hovered uselessly over his page. What was even happening on the last page? A quick glance over showed a woman, head tipped back in ecstasy as teeth sunk into her breast.

If he couldn’t bury his face in Shou-chan’s feathers, couldn’t he at least do something like that?

“Shou-chan-”
“Your deadline is tomorrow.”

Cruel! Evil! Unyielding! Incapable of love! Did God truly hate him so that even this much he would be denied? What evil was a little comfort from his work going to cause? Even he was not such a cruel God as to deny his characters such comforts. His protagonist would be allowed to run her hands over the scales and crown of her partner’s head, and he’d bristle for her in return. Then he’d let go of her chest to kiss her tenderly as his claws squeezed her leg.

There! That was one more page! All he had to do was actually draw it and…

“Shou-chan,” he tried again. Silence. “Can I pet your hair?”

Shoutarou stopped arranging the manuscript and looked at him with those wide grey-brown eyes. Ah. As nice as the orange was on him, this colour was cute too. Shoutarou stared at him for a minute before putting the manuscript down.
“Only a little, then we have to work.”
“Right, right.”

Shoutarou shuffled closer, leaning in a little. He was still a little far away, only really offering his head. No hug? No hug for his Akira? He’d ask for a hug next time! He’d learn his lesson! But for now, he buries his fingers in Shoutarou’s hair. The first layer was sleek and straight, proper and fitting of someone who tried so hard to fit in. Once he nudged past that, however, that was when he could get the best part. The under layers of Shoutarou’s hair were soft and fluffy. Not quite to the level of what his kaiju form had been, but the closest he’d find in this world.

“Akira,” Shoutarou groaned, “you need to finish your manuscript.”